An Uneasy Agreement
by Madam Mimm
Summary: After Luifer killed him Gabriel was dead, dead, deadski, as the saying goes. But he was definitely not satified with that.
1. Chapter 1

The smoke-filled waiting room hung with the same beige and avocado gloom as it had for the last few millennia. Good to see that the afterlife was constant, if nothing else. Gabriel sighed, manifesting himself with an appropriate form for the dimension. Being killed had given him the mother of all migraines, and as such he didn't have the imagination to come up with anything else than his vessel, with wings. It'd do.

He picked his way across the room, past the various unimpressed former-people who lounged on the decaying couches, flicking through ancient copies of "Time Death" and "Plague". He leant against the counter and knocked sharply on the corrugated plastic partition. It slid back with a snap, and a green tinted woman with red hair and a scowl stared out at him. Her sash proclaimed her "Miss Argentina". She looked him up and down, and noted his wings. She sighed.

"Another one of you? I thought Angels were supposed to be immortal."

"We are, unless someone kills us." He returned her sassy glare, too tired and migraine-ridden to even feign politeness, which was a shame, because otherwise he probably would have made a pass at her.

"You know, you really cause a back-log in the paperwork. Sit down over there, and we'll send someone down to see you... Number four thousand, seven hundred and two!" She called past him, and a pale man in a sleeping bag shuffled through the door, accompanied by a hissing rattle. Miss Argentina tutted, before scribbling something down on a notepad. "Why do they insist on camping out if they can't remember how to ward off snakes... over there, sir." The window slammed shut again.

Gabriel sighed, and surveyed the waiting room. There wasn't a chair free, but there was a space where Mr. Sleeping Bag had been standing. He walked over, manifested a chair and a bag of skittles, and began to wait.

"Hey." A high pitched squeak came from the couch across the room. Gabriel blinked. "Hey! Yo, birdman! Help a guy out here!"

A corpse he had originally thought to be headless was talking to him, gaining a heavily unimpressed glare from the tribal chief on its' right.

"Chief Full-of-Bull here won't change me back..." The tiny head guffawed and snorted. The high pitched voice was very, very annoying, rubbing up against Gabriel's migraine the way cheese rubs up against a serrated implement. "Would ya mind?" Gabriel sighed and pointed a hand vaguely in the direction of the corpse, who was wearing a frankly hideous magenta tuxedo. He wasn't in the mood to be charitable (or rather, was less so than usual), but he hoped this would at least make the talking stop. It didn't.

"Thanks, buddy, really appreciate it..." the voice gradually became lower as the corpse's head expanded. "Hat size is seven and one eighth, if you don't mind."

"You'll get what you get, and you'll shut up." Gabriel snapped, glancing over at the ghost. The ghost, now properly proportioned once more, clicked his fingers and replaced the magenta monstrosity with a black and white striped suit. This interested Gabriel.

"How did you do that?"

"Ah, no, sorry. Secrets of the trade. If I tell you, you'll tell your friends, they set up their own gigs... gotta keep the market." He shrugged, reaching into his jacket pocket and producing a handful of fat green beetles that he began to chew with a resounding crunch. "Want one?"

"No, thanks, I've got my own." He waved the bag of skittles, sighing and turning away. Silence descended for a moment, before the ghost tried again.

"So...what's with the wings, you get attacked by an emu or something?"

"No, actually, for your information I'm an Archangel. As in Angel of God, who could easily destroy you if you don't stop talking?" His headache was really getting to him, and being made to wait around for some glorified ex-psych patient to tick the right boxes and send him where he should be was not helping things. He had little respect for the pen-pushers of the Neitherworld simply because you only became one if you were a human who committed suicide. He didn't share his brothers' contempt for humans, but he did find the ones that killed themselves to be somewhat arrogant, or at the very least, unbearably petty. It smacked a little of the youngest kid saying "well if I can't get the super-barbie-deluxe-holiday-dream-house-with-matching-jet-skis-and-power-facility, then I don't want any presents at all" and then spending the rest of Christmas locked up in their room.

"Angel? No shit." The ghost knocked back another couple of beetles, crunching them thoughtfully. "So what you doing here? Aren't you guys kind of above all of this, no pun intended?"

"Normally, yes, unless one of your brothers decides to shove a knife through your heart, which really smarts, and gives me a headache the size of Japan, and I'm not happy about it, so would you please just take the hint and be quiet for a couple of centuries?"

"Right, right." The ghost held up his hands, chuckling in that forced way that people who are being bothersome do when they try not to appear bothersome. "Not my place to get involved in family problems, believe me, it's that kind of stuff that got me here in the first place, know what I mean?" He ran a hand over his dead, lank hair, and, in one movement that was surprisingly slick given his not unnoticeable girth, had crossed the room and was on his knees at Gabriel's side.

"Look, I'm gonna level with you pal, right here, right now. You and me, we've got a lot in common and I really feel like we've hit it off. You seem like just the guy to help me out of this predicament because, see, I'm not here for initial processing; I was already dead, there was an incident with a sandworm, I'm not gonna bore you with the details so let's just say that I really don't need to be here, and if you could just pop me back somewhere I can pick up my old racket again then really it'd be beneficial for everyone, know what I..."

"Beetlejuice!" Miss Argentina glowered through her window, her long eyelashes serving to accentuate her incredibly unimpressed expression. "Stop bothering Mr Gabriel. You'll get your turn to speak to Juno, now kindly let the other patrons be." She nodded, slamming the partition shut again. The ghost identified as Beetlejuice froze. Gabriel raised an eyebrow; one millimetre at a time, revelling as Beetlejuice's cowering grew in proportion to the incredulous eyebrow.

There was a long, uncomfortable silence.

"Receptionists." Beetlejuice snorted, standing uneasily. "You know I hate them."

"Wow." Gabriel crossed his legs, leaning back in the chair slightly as the ghost stood before him like a scolded puppy. "So you're the infamous Bio-Exorcist."

"Hey, well, you know... I wouldn't say "infamous"..."

"The one who's been causing trouble for years with the lines between life and death. The one who has been exorcised, what, three times now?"

"Uh... three and a half, if you count that one in Cape Town."

"And still you burst out of the Lost Souls room, refusing to let go. Now, that's commitment right there." Gabriel stood, wings rustling slightly as he circled the increasingly sheepish ghost. The smell of dead flesh and sweat surrounded the ghost like an aura, and Gabriel could detect definite undertones of sulphur and brimstone. "You do realise that it's our influence that keeps you out of Hell, right?" Beetlejuice flinched. As long as ghosts were in Limbo, or had a position in the Neitherworld, they were safe from judgement in Heaven or Hell. Most of them were in Limbo for a hundred or so years before judgement, but Beetlejuice's file had been purposefully transferred, mislaid, postponed, and who knew what else. No one was happy about it, but the angels continued to point out the alternative; would they prefer him in hell? Sure, he'd be in insufferable torment for a couple of centuries and give all the pen pushers a little peace for once, but if he had this sort of power as a ghost, did they really want to see him as a demon?

"Uh, for, uh, what it's worth, I really appreciate that. I mean, you know, I'd be happy to take my punishment, just that uh, I have a terrible allergy to... uh..."

"Soul-crushing, unrelenting torture?" Gabriel supplied.

"Uh, yeah, that's the one."

Gabriel looked the ghost up and down. He certainly didn't look like anything special. A dirty middle-aged man, maybe, but nothing especially nasty. Then again, Gabriel thought, the same could be said for Zachariah, and look what he achieved on a day to day basis. Gabriel was considering how to further demean this jumped-up, over-inflated lump of ectoplasm when the door behind them swung open, revealing a man hanging from a rope, an apologetic look on his mangled face, and a file in his hands.

"Uh... Mr Gabriel, if you could please come with me?" The hanged ghost croaked, eyes flicking from Gabriel to Beetlejuice. Gabriel sighed, and turned to Beetlejuice, poking a finger in his face.

"Don't get too cocky. We own you." He turned and left, following the hanged ghost, who showered him with apologies and stammered excuses, not that Gabriel was listening.

"Death? That's it?" Gabriel slammed his hands against the desk, staring at the assembled faceless suits. Literally. The beings in charge of the Neitherworld personnel processing department had been dead so long, they had just enough spirit left to fill out suits.

"We're really very sorry, Mr. Gabriel, but there's not a lot we can do..." A voice came from one of the suits.

"Your brother, Mr. Uriel is adapting quite well to life as a citizen of Limbo..." Another suit cut in, its' sleeves fidgeting nervously. "He's taken up a position as... as rehabilitation officer for those executed by means of corporal punishment... That's something, right?"

"Nuts to Uriel!" Gabriel shouted, standing suddenly, his wings rustling angrily. "Are you seriously telling me there's no way to get out of here? Back to the real world?" Which might not be around much longer, Gabriel thought. He bit his lip, backtracking. "I can't at least go back to Heaven?"

There was a long, uncomfortable pause.

"Negotiations of that kind..." The third suit began, its' collar twisting in such a way to imply it wasn't making eye contact... if a suit could make eye contact.

"Oh for the love of... You guys are useless." Gabriel snapped, pulling a mars bar out of his pocket. Had it been there five minutes ago? Who cared, he needed chocolate and he needed it now. He tore into it, chewing ravenously, staring at the wall. Once the sugar had began to make its' way into his bloodstream, he felt a little calmer. "Right. Start negotiating or whatever. I don't care how long it takes; I can't stay here for eternity. In the meantime, however, I will agree to whatever witness relocation crap you want me to go through."

"Wonderful!" The suits chorused, before bombarding him with forms and information.

It had been three years, in earth time, since Gabriel had been processed. He had a penthouse suite at the ritziest Neitherworld hotel, but really that was like saying he had the finest bedchambers Guantanamo bay had to offer. The news trickled in that the apocalypse was coming. The news trickled in that the apocalypse came and went. Gabriel managed to secure himself some fairly stable sources of information, through the usual avenues of bribery and corruption. But he wasn't happy. In fact, the news that the world was still very much existing made him more aggravated than if he'd heard that the Winchesters had singlehandedly built and manned a rocket made out of liquid nitrogen into a black hole at the heart of the universe. He wanted out. And, he decided, as he stared out of the window overseeing a beautiful skyline, white shag carpet tickling his toes, glass of port in one hand and lollipop in the other, he'd be damned if he was going to wait around for it (figuratively speaking).

An idea flashed into his head. A wicked, twisted idea.

"Beetlejuice." He mumbled to himself, draining the glass of port and resting it on the coffee table. "Beetlejuice." He tried again, louder, a mischievous grin creeping across his face. "Beetlejuice!"

There was a crash of thunder, and the ghost appeared in the middle of the room, looking very confused. He turned around, spotted Gabriel, and instantly raised his hands in self defence.

"Whoah, come on! This isn't fair; all I did was jump out and say boo, how was I supposed to know she had a weak heart?"

"It's not..."

"I mean, yeah, ok, I was trying to scare her, but just enough that she'd fall down. Faint maybe. Come on, it was manslaughter at worst!"

"Look, I'm..."

"Ok, fine, you dragged it out of me! I killed her! I killed her and I liked it, you happy now? What? What? I'm just one guy, what do you want from me?"

"I want you to shut up." Gabriel glared at him, and a large piece of duct tape appeared over the ghost's mouth. "I didn't summon you here about any punishment. If anything... I want to strike up a deal with you."

Beetlejuice's eyes narrowed suspiciously. He peeled the duct tape away carefully, and licked his lips with a long, pointed, green tongue. "I'm listening."

"You and I... have quite a lot in common. Conmen, jokers, tricksters..." Gabriel picked up his glass and walked back to the bar, pouring out two drinks. "We're both powerful beings. But..." He handed one of the drinks to Beetlejuice, who was watching him carefully. "We're both under strict limitations." Gabriel sat down on the couch, watching as Beetlejuice examined his drink closely before determining that it wasn't going to hurt him. "I'm an angel. I'm more powerful than you. But you have more, what's the term? Geo-temporal limitations?"

"I can go places you can't, and you want me to get you out of here." The ghost finished, before downing his port and heading over to the bar to refill his drink. "So what do I get out of it?"

"Well for one, I can get the hunters to leave off you." Gabriel lied bald-facedly. "As long as you stay in North America. And I'm sure I can pull some strings down here to get some more extensions on your processing. Say... lose a couple of case files, a few pieces of incriminating evidence..." he shrugged. "Your usual bribes."

"Could you get this damn name-summoning thing lifted?"

"Mm... no." Gabriel continued to grin, and stood, walking over to the ghost. If there was one thing Gabriel prized in such negotiations, it was the ability to unnerve any opposition by staring at them and walking towards them until they were so uncomfortable they'd agree, just in the hopes that he'd back off. "Because, for one thing, that would be asking too much and they'd never buy it, and for another, I'd like to know just where you are." He pinched the ghost's cheek, and wrinkled his nose in a condescending smile. Beetlejuice slapped his hand away, pointing his finger in Gabriel's face.

"Hey, watch it pal. Or I'll..."

"You'll what?" Gabriel laughed, his wings expanding behind him. "Anything you can do, I can do better."

Beetlejuice snorted, and small puffs of smoke shot from his nostrils.

"I don't deal with angels." He turned away, straightening his lapels as he headed towards the door. "You guys are less likely to stick with your deals than humans are."

"Alright, you get me out of here, I'll keep the hunters and the angels off your back, and I'll let you keep all those miniatures you just put inside your jacket."

Beetlejuice stopped, raising an eyebrow as he glanced over his shoulder. "No back tracking?"

"Nope."

They watched each other closely, the atmosphere becoming noticeably tense.

"Fine." Beetlejuice straightened his lapels again, brushing dead skin from his shoulders. "But it'll take me a while. I'll find a loophole, be an outside agent. But you gotta keep the hunters off my back."

"And I will." Gabriel sniffed. "But I'll call you back periodically and make sure you're actually trying."

"What, you don't trust me?" The ghost laughed, evaporating as he touched the door handle, leaving his manic grin and glowing eyes. "Catch ya later, Gabey-baby."

Gabriel looked out over the skyline once more, sipping at his port. His brain was a mess of thoughts and ideas, his face set in concentration. After a while, he chuckled.

"Gabey-baby... A wordsmith, he's not..."


	2. Chapter 2

The young girl screamed, her perfectly coiffed blonde hair bouncing unnaturally against her shoulders (and her other unnatural bouncy bits). She ran down the rickety wooden stairs, her heels clomping as she staggered through the darkness. Her boyfriend, a well built, athletic man who had been painting the lobby, dropped his paintbrushes and grabbed her by the arms.

"Christelle, Christelle, whoah, what's happening?"

"There was a ghost, Todd!" Her eyes were manic beneath her man layers of shadow and mascara, her fringe sticking to her sweat drenched forehead. "I swear to God, a ghost! He was in the spare room, he..."

"There's no such thing as ghosts, Christelle." Todd laughed, his dimples dimpling as he tossed back his luxurious locks. "You just got suckered in by the stories about this place being haunted. It's not real."

"Shows what you know, bub." The voice was deep and growling, but sounded sinisterly joyful. The paint can suddenly rattled and threw itself from the counter-top, white paint pooling at Todd's feet.

"What... Christelle, did you?"

"OhMyGod, run, Todd, run!" She shrieked, backing away as black stripes formed in the white paint, turning into hands which grabbed Todd's leg. He yelled, and tried to fight, but just succeeded in making himself fall over and then hitting his head on the edge of the counter, rendering himself unconscious. Christelle screamed and ran.

Her platform heels clomped as she tottered through to the living room, screaming yet again as a ghastly face appeared in the mirror. Her foot twisted, and she collapsed onto one of the dust-sheet covered sofas, her not-inconsiderable-bosom heaving as she gasped for breath. Black stripes crept up across the dust sheet, and she watched, horrified, as it began to twist around her feet, morphing into a snake... a snake with a man's face... it was the single most hideous, horrifying thing Christelle had ever seen, and it served to make her struggle more as it continued to wind around her, hissing and leering, caressing inappropriate body parts and heading for her neck.

"Oh god..." She sobbed, as the snake hissed and pulled back, preparing to strike. "Help me!"

Beej lunged forward, only to find himself falling face-forward onto stone tile.

"Fuck..." He muttered, sitting up and pushing his nose back into joint. "That wasn't funny, I was in the middle of a very important job..."

"You were in the middle of screwing me over." A voice came from somewhere above him. Beej looked around. He appeared to be in one of the pricier villas of the Neitherworld, which were oriented in such a way that they would constantly have atmospheric lighting and a cool, airy feel. This one had stone floors and white and terracotta walls, with a giant plasma scream TV on one wall, leather couches and recliners, a bowl of candy on the table and an extensive collection of DVDs. Beej was not happy to see the man who was currently watching him from the couch.

"Gabriel. Y'ever hear of advanced notice?"

"You ever hear of chloroform? It'd save a lot of energy on your part, not that I advocate what I just prevented, of course."

"Bio-exorcism means dealing with all types." Beetlejuice growled, standing. "Sometimes those types are slutty. It's a perk."

"Yes, well, leaving aside the obvious innuendo there... XYZ, by the way... I'm not sure you should be taking on other contracts while you still haven't fulfilled our deal."  
"Hey."Beej fixed his zipper, but refused to be embarrassed or humbled. "I take on as many gigs as I need to survive. It's not exactly like you gave me an easy task."

"But I gave you a task." Gabriel leant forward and grabbed a handful of candies from the bowl, still glaring at Beetlejuice. Beetlejuice turned his back on the angel, examining the DVD collection instead. "It's been, what, six months, topside? Still nothing? Tut tut."

"Hey, you didn't put a time stamp on... ooh, GhostBusties Two. That's my favourite one."

"I know, the one who plays the Statue of Liberty... wouldn't mind being stuck with a body like that for eternity."

"Tell me about it." Beej snorted, before clearing his throat and getting back on track. "But yeah, you didn't put a time stamp on it. You just said "get it done". So I'll get it done."

"Have you even tried?" Gabriel clicked his fingers, causing the DVD to remove itself from where Beetlejuice had just pocketed it and return to the shelf. Beej scowled. "Look." Gabriel sighed, standing, his wings resting behind him. "I'm not a bad guy. I don't want this to be any more complicated than it already is. I just want you to get me out of here. Is that so hard?"

"Hey, bub, I've been trying to track those guys, like you said. The, uh... Winsters, right?"

"Winchesters." Gabriel sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Well... that'd explain why I'm not getting too far with it."

"Write it down."

"No sweat, I can remember. Got a mind like a steel trap."

"Write it down!"

"I'm not gonna write it down!"

"Write. It. Down." Gabriel glared up at the ghost. Sure, Beetlejuice was taller, but Gabriel knew he could look damn imposing when he wanted to. The ghost stared for a moment, before holding up his hands.

"Ok, fine, if it means that much to you... you got a pen?"

Gabriel manifested a sharpie marker, and the ghost wrote the word "Winchesters" on the back of his hand.

"Write it somewhere it won't get washed off."

Beetlejuice stared at Gabriel, one cocky eyebrow raised.

"Fair point." Gabriel conceded, noting the large amounts of mould around the ghost's hairline. He made himself a drink, and reclined once more. "Well, I suppose you may as well go. I could threaten you some more, but I'm sure you've got the point by now."

Beetlejuice grinned and saluted, before swapping to his middle finger while Gabriel wasn't looking. He cleared his throat. "Uh, boss... Kinda need you to say the "B"s to get me out of here."

"Right, right." Gabriel sighed, kicking off his shoes. He put his hands behind his head, glaring stonily at Beetlejuice. "You get me the hell out of here as soon as possible, or I swear I will make you spend eternity in a rerun of the Brady Bunch, wearing cotton-poly blend and being just far enough into puberty to fantasise about your adoptive mother and step-sisters, but not so much that you'd actually be anything more than impotent."

"Hey. Whoah. Don't need to spell it out for me, boss. Loud and clear." Gabriel sent Beetlejuice back, and when he arrived, the ghost was somewhat annoyed to see that the girl had long since gone. "You goddamned candy-sniffing asshole!"


	3. Chapter 3

Gabriel leant back in the chair, crossing his left leg across his right and sighing, adamantly not looking at the assembled suits.

"It's wonderful to hear that you're settling into life here in the afterlife, Mr Gabriel." A woman's navy blue 3-piece with gold buttons fumbled. Gabriel sighed again. A man's pinstripe suit with white shirt and a very ugly pink and red tie tried to take over.

"Not trying to fight your way out or anything." The suit laughed. Gabriel tensed slightly, his wings rustling. Did they know about his plan? No, probably not. And then, what could they do if they did? He was one of the most powerful archangels around; they couldn't exactly do much to get him to stop.

"We are sorry for having to call you in here for such trivial forms." A men's' brown tweed suit at the back of the room piped up, its' sleeves and collar noticeably shaking. "But, well... you know how it is."

"Don't, please." Gabriel waved the concerns away, standing up and flexing his wings. "We done?"

"Well, we were hoping..." The women's suit pushed its' chest out, its' voice wavering. "There's going to be the centennial anniversary of the first printing of The Handbook for The Deceased, it's quite a gala amongst high-society types."

"Right..." Gabriel sighed, not liking where this was going, or how much it was leading him away from leaving these depressing offices and finding something to eat... or someone to eat it off.

"We were hoping you would attend as a guest of honour." The men's pinstripe gushed, as simpering as a faceless suit could manage to be.

This is why, Gabriel observed days later, as he fixed his tie in the hall mirror, he shouldn't go to these meetings hungry. Or horny. It makes it far too easy to get distracted and agree to something that will not only be dull and unpleasant, but also completely void of anyone he could have a conversation with. He was something of a social trophy to the bit-the-dust-upper-crust types. Which would be fine, if he was looking to score, but most of them were bureaucrats who had suffered hideous suicides, and Gabriel wasn't really into self-harm as a look. He scowled at his reflection. He needed someone he could talk to, who could act as a buffer against the unwanted and help him get with the ones he did want. Of course, he could always conjure himself an illusion or two, but he tended to find the "puppet and master" relationship somewhat unfulfilling in terms of conversation. Sure, having an illusory call girl or two was one thing, but he wouldn't want to go drinking with any of them.

In an instant, he made a decision.

"Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice."

The ghost appeared with his back to the angel, dollar bills clutched in his hand. He looked around, growling when he saw Gabriel.

"What? What?" He shoved the dollar bills back in his jeans pocket, his Hawaiian shirt looking stained and crumpled. "I was looking for your damn Winchesters! Can't a guy take a half hour break without getting called into the boss's office? I may be dead, pal, but you don't want to mess with me, I'm union!"

"Oh really, and what union is that? The union of trailer-trash deadbeats? Is that holding its meetings in Spearmint Rhino, now?" Gabriel snapped, his wings rustling. "And don't be so jumpy. I've called you up because I'm going to some big gala thing tonight."

"Oh, the Handbook centennial? How divine; I hear it really is the highlight of the social calendar, you must be so happy to attend."

Gabriel blinked at the ghost's sudden lucidity and upper-crust accent. "Well, not really."

"Oh, what a shame, and as sad as that is, _why the hell did you drag me back here, you asshole?_"

There we go. Gabriel had to hand it to him; he certainly put a lot of effort into his sarcastic remarks. "I need a wing-man." Gabriel shrugged, before glaring at the ghost, whose eyes were glinting the way any comedians would when confronted with a cheesy pun. "Don't say it. Look, I need someone to come with me who could... liven it up a little. Again, don't say anything. I'm thinking that if you come with me, we could actually make this a memorable evening. Between us, we've got a solid five centuries of pranks and tricks. Think about it. We could be the ultimate con team."  
Beetlejuice considered this. It was certainly an interesting proposition.

"Girls?"

"As long as they're not too mutilated, I'm fine with whatever."

"Booze?"

"I'm an important figure. I'd need someone to taste it all for me."

"And what if my, uh... light fingers get away from me?"

"I didn't see anything."

There was a long pause.

"Alright, Gabey-baby, you got a deal." So saying, Beetlejuice spat in his hand and extended it to Gabriel. Gabriel didn't quite recoil, but decided against the hand-shake. Instead, he grinned at the ghost.

"So how long 'til you're ready?"

Beetlejuice grinned back, and changed into his favourite black-and-white striped suit with a wave of his hands.

"Gabey, I'm always ready."

The Gala was held, as always, in the grandest hall of the Neitherworld. The ceilings stood so tall that one could see the masterwork painted on them (Michelangelo's contribution to the Afterlife, and much better than his previous, more pedestrian works) without any tedious tilting your head from side to side, although incredibly powerful opera glasses were available from the waiting staff, should guests desire to see the details. Impeccable marble columns were graced with silver and gold drapes, and a stage that would fit a Broadway show but, in contrast to the rest of the room looked modest, sat before swathes of golden curtains. The entire room was delicately painted with light that came from a bewitching chandelier that was, well, bewitched, to always cast the perfect light. The Gala had reached its fullest swing, in so much as the guests had turned up and the champagne bottles were opened (people were even considering joining in with other people's conversations, they were so prepared to let their hair hang slightly looser than normal). That was, until two men entered the party, causing everyone to stop mid-step. For the briefest of moments, everyone fell still and silent, torn between welcoming Gabriel and demanding Beetlejuice be thrown out. In an attempt to meet desires midway, everyone continued with their quiet conversation as if they weren't there, clinking glasses and clearing their incorporeal throats.

Gabriel, who had gone for the Cole Porter look of clean, crisp black suit and a cream-coloured scarf, sighed and cast mournful looks around the gathering. It was far too polite for his liking, he decided, as the doorman bowed for him, and eyed Beetlejuice carefully. They stood at the top of the small staircase, gold carpet stretching out before them, leading to the ballroom floor, large glass panes of the double doors behind them making the light bounce everywhere. People stood in clumps and groups, indulging in polite (and utterly boring) conversation.

"Boy is this place dead." Beej and Gabriel spoke in unison, before levelling startled and suspicious eyebrows at each other. There was a silence while they scrutinised each other, before Gabriel tutted.

"Drink?"

"Always."

They skirted the edge of the grand room towards the bar, browsing the collected faces.

"I know it's a redundant statement, but what a bunch of stiffs."

"You're telling me." Beetlejuice snorted, signalling for the barman. "But they all look loaded. Who says you can't take it with you?" Gabriel merely sighed, waving nonchalantly and gaining the barman's attention with a deal more success than Beetlejuice.

"Ah, but it is easier for a camel to get through the eye of a needle than a rich man to get to heaven. Bloody Mary, please." Gabriel nodded at the barman, before turning back to Beetlejuice. "You know, I've always thought that sounded kind of discriminatory."

"You know..." Beetlejuice growled, as the barman ignored his waving hand. "Some guy once told me that the "eye of the needle" was a gateway in Jerusalem, and that's what the J-man meant when he said it. But..." Giving up on the barman, who had started serving other guests, Beetlejuice snaked his arm over the top of the bar and retrieved a bottle of whisky for himself. He checked the label appreciatively and continued talking. "But that's not exactly hard, is it? Especially if you're rich, you can just order them to rebuild the wall and change the size of the gate so you can get your camel through."

"Nope." Gabriel sighed, looking at the ghost's whisky, and raising his glass in toast. "It means what it says; money doesn't help you back home."

"Huh." Beetlejuice ran a hand over his chin, before raising his own glass and smiling wickedly. "Then I suppose it would be downright uncharitable of me to let these poor souls leave without being liberated from some of that terrible burden."

Gabriel couldn't help smiling at his companion's wicked grin, and shook his head. "I'm saying nothing."

"Which is how I like you best, Gabey." Beej's striped tongue darted across his slimy teeth, giving him an almost snake-like appearance, before he knocked back anther swig of whisky, and slipped the bottle into his jackets inside pocket. He spat into his hand and attempted to smooth his unruly, brittle hair, before clearing his throat and straightening his lapels. With a click and a point-gun gesture at the crowd, he turned to Gabriel. "Shall we mingle?"

"Oh, let's do." Gabriel grinned, draining the last of his Bloody Mary and heading off into the crowd with Beej, the two of them grinning like possessed, sadistic alley-cats.


	4. Chapter 4

Gabriel awoke to a sound that greatly resembled someone flushing marbles down a toilet. Blinking back the rush of hang-over gremlins that threw themselves to the front of his brain, he looked around himself. He was in his Neitherworld villa, in his bed, with a couple of very naked, very attractive young ladies he couldn't remember conjuring up, meeting, or even being introduced to.

This all seemed fairly standard.

The gurgling, hacking, crunching sound, however, was not.

Beetlejuice stumbled through from the ensuite bathroom, sounding like he was not just coughing up a lung, but also fragments of his diaphragm which he was attempting to sculpt into a replica of the Venus De Milo whilst they were still lodged in his oesophagus. Gabriel saw the ghost, in a stained and shabby pair of maroon boxer shorts and a white fest top, and he was not pleased.

"Oh dear God! What the hell are you doing in my bathroom?"

Beetlejuice blinked, partly from the shock of being so dramatically addressed, and partly from the sudden, stabbing pain that raced through his brain.

"Ow."

"What." Gabriel growled, only remaining seated because he wasn't sure exactly how clothed he was at that moment, "The. Hell. Are you doing? In. My. Bathroom."

"I'm using the can." Beetlejuice reciprocated in tone and timbre, "What else does one do in a bathroom?"

"One normal person or one messed up son-of-a-bitch like you?" Gabriel zapped himself into pyjama bottoms and a lounge robe, so he could get out of bed and confront the ghost.

"Calm down, you little closet case." Beej yawned, sending a putrid waft of morning breath across the room. "I was only using your bathroom because the guest one isn't working."

"The... guest one?" Gabriel blinked again, as this time the hang-over demons brought with them a few memories of last night. The gala.

They had gotten blind drunk.

They had gotten lucky.

He had let Beetlejuice use one of the guest rooms.

He made a mental note to clean said guest room. Clean it with fire.

"Man..." The ghost chuckled, rolling his shoulders as he stretched out his arms and neck, walking past Gabriel. "You angels sure know how to drink, huh?"

"Did... did we try to out-drink each other?"

"Uh... yup." Beetlejuice nodded, suddenly wearing his jeans and Hawaiian style magenta shirt. "And then you convinced the stuffed shirts running the gig that they could take bets on who would win. Raise money for their cause or whatever."

"Huh... And... Then we met the girls." Gabriel grinned, the memories returning properly now.

"Well, we met two of them." Beetlejuice nodded, eyeing the bed suspiciously. "A blonde and a redhead. I took the blonde because you didn't like how she'd..." he drew a finger across his throat, grinning wickedly. "May I say, you missed out on a fine one there? She can do tricks like you wouldn't believe."

"Oh, and the redhead..." he strained for the name. Carly? Candy? Something like that, he was sure. Or, then again, maybe it was Imogen? "Yeah, she had a few tricks of her own... So, wait, who's..." He motioned to the brunette, her face obscured by the way she clutched the covers of the bed. Beetlejuice shrugged.

"I didn't see her. Maybe red wanted to spice things up a bit?"

"That... does sound vaguely familiar. Eh." Gabriel shrugged. "If I stop paying attention to her, she'll leave whether I made her up or not."

"A wise decision." Beetlejuice nodded, suddenly holding a bottle of beer. "I think it's time for a little hair of the dog. Want one?"

"No, I'm good."

"Fair enough. Better go see if Blondie's still hangin' around, maybe I can get another round out of her."

"You're disgusting." Gabriel shook his head as Beetlejuice left, smirking to himself. Gabriel sighed, moving towards the bathroom before thinking better of it. He zapped on the extractor fan, and decided he'd wait a while before going in there. Sitting on the bed, more thoughts of the night before began to flick through his mind.

Beetlejuice had said... something. Something that had raised Gabriel's interest... and then Beetlejuice had been so keen to get him off the subject that they had started the drinking competition. What was it?

Something about the Winchesters? No, he would have made a point to remember that.

Something about the Apocalypse-that-wasn't? No, he was pretty sure nothing could surprise him about that any more.

It was... Norway.

Gabriel's eyebrows shot up, as he suddenly recalled the conversation.

"_What did that schmuck just call you?" _Beetlejuice had snorted, as a ghost in a highly polished suit of armour and a furry helmet had backed off.

"_Loki."_ Gabriel had sighed, finishing his third scotch. _"I had a work placement."_ It was a lie, and an obvious one, but that was all the ghost needed.

"_You were Loki? As in, Loki the Norwegian god of mischief?" _The ghost had snorted derisively. _"Go figure."_

Gabriel had thought the conversation would end there, but then the ghost had surprised him. _"And here's me thinking you were still tied to the tree."_

"_The tree? You know Norse myth?"_

"_Know it? I lived it."_ Beetlejuice had chuckled at that point, draining his drink. _"I've spent more time running up and down the branches of Yggdrasil than most of these losers can comprehend."_

"_Seriously?" _Gabriel had chuckled, incredulously, suddenly very intrigued by the ghost. The ghost had seemed almost embarrassed, glaring into the space around him as if he could drag the words back out of the air. Gabriel was not to be deterred. _"You don't seem the type. What were you?"_

After a long pause, Beetlejuice had relented, sighing.

"_I was one of the first Einherjar to be taken to Valhalla. I was one of the first to be kicked out, too."_

Gabriel had found this a hilarious and outlandish statement.

"_How do you get kicked out of Valhalla? The place is one big, drunken party."_

"_Yeah, well, maybe I got kicked out, maybe I left... they booted me down to Hel, and she taught me a thing or too."_ He had shrugged, grinning wickedly. At this, Gabriel had been stunned into momentary silence.

"_Hel?" _He had not heard his daughter's name in countless centuries. And now, to be sat at a Neitherworld gala, being told that this poltergeist had known her...

"_She taught me everything I know..."_ Was that wistfulness in Beetlejuice's eye, as he stared into his empty glass? _"How to use these powers, how to break the rules... Of course, I was the worst manservant she ever had, but she was looking more for company than decent help, I always thought." _ Here, Beetlejuice had chuckled, before waving for a waiter. _"I guess she takes after you in that respect, huh Gabey?"_

And with that, the ghost had convinced Gabriel to drink so much that he had almost forgotten the entire conversation. Almost, but not quite.

Gabriel gazed around his room, watching as the brunette faded from existence. Well, that was one problem solved. He moved into the bathroom, deciding he might feel more tangible if he splashed water onto his face.

It had been a long time since he'd been to Asgard. It was only relatively recently that he had been discovered as Gabriel, true, but once they'd started cracking down on punishing him, he'd slipped away fairly smartish. It figured, though, that in his attempt to avoid Ragnarok, he had only had a couple of centuries before witnessing the start of the apocalypse. Out of the frying pan, into the Judaeo-Christian fire. He stared at himself in the mirror, taking in his bed-hair, his bloodshot eyes, his messy feathers. He had been so intent on returning to heaven, or to the human world... he had not spared a moment's thought for his children, or his other family. Of course, the pagan gods would not speak with him; not after discovering he had been lying to them. Not now they thought him a dead Angel. But...

"Hey, Beej... Beetlejuice!" Gabriel, in a moment's decisiveness, teleported himself to wherever the ghost was. He didn't care what he interrupted; right now he felt this was more important.


	5. Chapter 5

Nothing had changed, unsurprisingly. In the underworld, very little ever did.

The Hall of Eljudnir was just as grand and towering as ever, and it gaped in the same magnificent, cavernous way he remembered. The servants, titled Ganglati and Ganglöt, were as slow and nonchalant as ever, greatly resembling mimes walking into the wind.

Beetlejuice was reminded of exactly why he went freelance.

"Please..." The manservant, Ganglati, extended his hand with an agonisingly long movement, rolling his eyes as he spoke. The myths said that the servants moved slowly. What the myth missed was the attitude; their pacing was not to do with their corporeal state, more to do with the fact that Hel found it hilarious to wind up her guests with lack-lustre service. "Walk..." he continued, and Beetlejuice had to admire the effort he was putting in. He knew from experience; it took a lot of commitment to look like you didn't give a shit. "This..."

"Yeah, it's alright, buddy, I know the way." He pushed past him, walking on into the gaping hall. Eventually he saw a small wooden table, rough and simple, designed to seat two people. On it sat a bowl and a knife, similarly rustic (he knew, however, they were "hunger" and "famine" respectively, and she could do all sorts of wicked things with them). Beside it sat a carved wooden throne, which looked like it had been rescued from a back-alley antiques shop somewhere, and on that throne sat the Goddess herself.

"Hel. Babes. Long time no see."

"Ah, my dear..." She smiled; her face so pale it was almost luminous. Her dark eyes sparkled like stars as she cut a wry grin towards her guest. "As ever, both informal and inaccurate."

"Inaccurate?" Beetlejuice laughed, bowing ever so slightly, not wanting to appear too cocky. He glanced at her, her skin breathtakingly pale and flawless from the waste up, but dark and rotting from the navel down. "Impossible."

"Surely you know me better than to think you can flatter me, Beetlejuice..." She took an apple from her maidservant, who was approaching with a deliberate lack of speed. "That is the name you go by now, isn't it?"

"It's the name I've been bound to." Beetlejuice sniffed, as he manifested a deck chair on the other side of the table. "So be careful how you use it. May I?"

"Of course."

She cut into the fruit, peeling it with her knife. The peel collected in one long spiral, landing intact in the bowl before withering and shrivelling. She then cut the snowy white apple into eighth segments.

"So." She glanced up at him as she cut, her dark eyes sparkling with a sense of learned wit, betraying her hard mouth and daring him to surprise her. "You're here on business?"

"Well, yeah, actually, I'm here on behalf of a client."

"A client?" She allowed herself another small smile, setting her knife down as she began to eat the apple. "And who on earth would that be? I can't imagine there are many who would want to talk to me. At this point I'm so desperate for a chat, I'm beginning to wonder if I should take up offers on those Wiccan circles that have come back in style."

Beej shifted uncomfortably, unsure of how she would take the news. He had been the Ganglati for some centuries, and had become quite close to her. He admired her the same way anyone would a teacher, or an old friend. She was one of the few people he would honestly sit and listen to, and he was one of the few people she would smile for. He knew that any self-deprecation on her part was founded in insecurity, and he hated to risk making her feel uncomfortable.

"Well... I'm here on behalf of the Archangel Gabriel..." Her eyebrows slowly raised themselves, suspicious. He continued, "AKA, the trickster, AKA Loki."

She sat perfectly still; not a part of her moved, and yet she changed. Her eyes stopped shining, and the glum, brooding expression she was known for took hold once more.

"You come here on behalf of my father." She nodded, setting her knife down, her hand tense enough to imply that if she hadn't set it down, she would have thrown it. Her dark eyes set in fierce determination, she stood. "I do not wish to hear from him."

"But... uh... majesty... babes..." Beetlejuice stood, stumbling after her. "He wants to make it up. He, uh... he needs a favour..."

"A favour?" She spun on her heel, glaring at him. She pointed one slender, white finger an inch from his nose, snarling. "I haven't heard from him since he hid himself as that damned Jötunn and made it so that Baldur had to stay here with me."

"Well... I mean, it's tragic, but it's not that bad..."

"That was his attempt at fixing us up." She hissed, and Beetlejuice had to suppress a smirk. Hel scowled, her formidable glare on par with her father's, when he bothered to be serious.

"I had presumed him dead," she continued, her voice a deathly whisper. "Or in some state between life and death."

"Well, technically..."

"But then I hear, from Odin's bloody ravens, of all things, that Baldur and Odin were both murdered by some up-his-own-arse Ex-Archangel, and that my father was also an Archangel."

"That... I could see how that would upset you."

"My father has a secret life. I was told to wait here for him; that it was my destiny to wait in the bowels of the underworld, tending to the pestilent dead, until he gave the signal to start Ragnarök. Which, it seems, he couldn't care less about and which is never going to happen. "Upset" doesn't cover it."

With this, she spun again, storming further into the hall. Beetlejuice stumbled after her, seeing (after a while) a tall four-poster bed appear before his eyes. It was clad in swathes of silver, pale blue and even paler pink, looking very much like it should be on top of a Christmas cake somewhere. The gossamer curtains swung slightly, as he saw Hel's silhouette shaking with sobs behind it.

"Uh... if you'd just hear me out..."

"Go away."

"But... Hella..."

"You said you'd leave Yggdrasil. You said you'd never come back. And now you return with news of a man I want nothing to do with..."

"Majesty, your Pops is deadski." He respected her, and he admired her, but she did nothing for his patience.

The sobs stopped.

"See, right after Lucifer snuffed Odour and Baldy, he went ahead and snuffed Gabe too. And now he's stuck in the Neitherworld."

"The... who?"

"It's a localised region. It's for ghosts, poltergeists and the schmucks who haven't been processed yet. The suits can't get him back in Heaven, and they can't put him back in the Living World. They don't know about his, uh..." _Careful, Beej, you just got her listening to you... _"His... time in... Asgard... So they haven't even tried sending him here."

"I don't see why I should care."

"He misses you." It was one of those rare moments where Beej actually seemed to care, and for a brief fleeting second, didn't seem to be looking for his own gain.

And, by nature of being a rare moment, it was over as quickly as it started.

"'Sides, if you can get him in here, he's outta my hair." He made to run his fingers through his mane of dry blonde locks, but got his finger caught in a particularly aggressive tangle. He spoke through gritted teeth as he tried to pull his hand free. "And frankly... that would be just peachy with me..." As he finally disentangled himself, he heard her laugh. He blinked. Hel very rarely laughed.

"Does he..." Her head poked around the gossamer curtains, the silver-blue complimenting her pale complexion. "Does he really miss me?"

"And then some." Beej chuckled, leaning against one of the columns. "Hey, if he knew what I was thinking about you an' this bed right now, he'd show just how much he cares, know what I mean?"

Hel shot him the quickest, tiniest smirk, before sighing.

"Alright. What's your plan?"

"Hey, woah, no need to get straight to business." His eyes glinted wickedly. "If you want him to prove himself, I'd be willing to work on this "you, me and the bed" thing."

"Beetlejuice," she said, pushing past him and gaining a playfully haughty expression. "This bed is known as Kor. It is the "Sick Bed". It doesn't need to get any sicker."

The suits quaked. If dealing with Archangels was scary, dealing with Pagan Afterlife Goddesses was terrifying. Miss Argentina had bowed and curtseyed profusely as the powerful figure had demanded to speak to the people in charge, mentally scolding herself for daring to think that the day had been boring.

Her silver-blue cloak hung from her neck to the floor, and her headdress rested on sleek black curls. Her eyes shone with rage, and her mouth curled into a despairing snarl.

"The Archangel." She spat. Pagan Goddesses had a rep for being confrontational, and damn if she wasn't living up to it. "The one they call Gabriel. He is rightfully mine, and as such, I demand you allow him to serve the remainder of his existence with me, in the roots of Yggdrasil, in the land of Helheim."

"Well..." One of the suits managed to quiver. "That would require a lot of paper-work. Such a transfer..."

"His brother killed my people, and threw our pantheon to chaos. If I cannot have this... "Lucifer"... I will take Gabriel."

The suits began to stammer more excuses about paperwork, at which point the cloak moved back to reveal her powerful white arm, slamming the knife of Famine into the desk, where it swayed slightly, embedded in the wood. Between Loki's smile and the strength of her mother, Angrboða (a frost giant), she gave the impression she was not just any other testy pagan Goddess.

The suits shook.

One of them lost a button.

"We... uh... we'll hurry that paperwork through now."

She allowed herself a small, pitying smile which she shot at the suits, who hurriedly began sorting paperwork. Unbeknownst to them, a pasty skinned poltergeist floated outside the window behind them, grinning and pointing his gnarled thumbs up.

"So are you both gonna be ok down here?" Beej grinned, as father and daughter stood glaring at each other from twelve feet away.

"No!" Gabriel growled. "I did not agree to being brought here... not... for that!"

"Well what were you expecting?" Hel shot back, keeping her deadpan scowl. "A red carpet? The gods in Asgard think you're dead! And even if they didn't, you really think they'd want you here now they know you're an Angel of the Judeo-Christian Lord?"

"Hey, I'm an Archangel! And I demand more respect!"  
"Why, because you're so much more important than us?"

"No, because I'm your father and you should treat me accordingly!"

"Ha! You haven't been around in at least five centuries; I think I should be the one calling the shots here."

"But... I... It's so degrading!"

"Look. Gabey. Babes. If I may." Beetlejuice cleared his throat, straightening his lapels. "You're not gonna have to be acting as the Ganglati all the time. Just while there are visitors. The rest of the time, there's enough space in Helheim that you don't have to be near each other if you don't want to. It's a fair enough condition, surely."

"It's completely fair." Hel nodded, as they all stared each other out.

"And don't call me "Shirley"."

They all blinked. Gabriel grinned at his daughter, who was biting her tongue.

"See, kid. We're two of a kind."

"Hm." Hel was not impressed. "We'll see."

"Well, regardless of the state of your relationship," Beetlejuice bowed slightly, "because frankly I couldn't care less, I have delivered you from the Neitherworld, and have therefore terminated the terms of our contract. So, if you'd do me the honour of zapping me out of this particular Hel-hole... geddit?" He snorted, meeting derisive tutts from his audience. "Hel-hole... 'cause you're... called... heh... Gabey, lay those B words on me."

"Allow me." Hel allowed herself a small, wry smile, which instantly sparked Beetlejuice's warning signals. "Have you ever travelled by Fallandaforad before?"

"Whut?"

"It means falling to peril. But it will get you where you need to go. Thank you, Beetlejuice, and farewell!"

"Hey, whaddaya..."

Without further warning, a seemingly endless pit sunk out of the floor beneath him. He screamed as he fell, seeing the dwindling silhouettes of Gabriel and Hel waving at him from the ever diminishing ring of light.

"Well." He thought. And then, "shit."

Furthermore, he added, out loud:

"I should have known better than to trust a goddamn Angel! You better keep your end of the deal!"

"OhMyGod!" The blonde quaked, gripping the arm of one of her chaperones. "I can feel it! It's just like it was the last time! Can't you feel that freaky vibe, Agent Hendrix?"

`Agent Hendrix` smiled down at her, missing her eyes by a few inches, but quickly recovered and began making the climb back up from her chest.

"Well it's uh... interesting."

"Yeah." His partner nudged him sharply in the ribs. "Uh, Christelle, why don't you go back and wait in the car? We wouldn't want you getting... uncomfortable."

Christelle sniffed, nodded, and bounced from the room.

"Dean?"

"In a minute..."

"Dean."

"In a minute... Just... just until she's closed the door..."  
Sam rolled his eyes and produced the EMF tracer from his jackets inside pocket.

At first, there was nothing.

Then, there was a tremor or two in the needle.

Then the needle shot off the end of the scale, just as a rather plump apparition fell out of the ceiling with such a force that the floor he landed on buckled and splintered. The Winchesters recoiled and, as they looked into the storm of dust and sawdust, they saw the haggard poltergeist stumble out of the crater he had created for himself. He choked on the dust, looking like some peculiar alien as he stumbled into the dim light. Eventually, he looked up at the two suited men, and groaned.

"Let me guess..." He looked at the back of his hand. "Winchesters?"

They nodded, staring at him.

"You pals with the ex-archangel Gabriel?"

"Uh..." They exchanged glances. What the hell was this guy? "Yes?"

"Goddamn it!" The ghost growled, dusting off his coat. "Where the hell were you a month ago?"

He coughed again, spat onto the floor, and tehn ran a hand through his hair, composing himself. The Winchesters were dumbstruck.

"`scuse me. I've, uh, been through Hel and back." So saying, he clicked his fingers and disappeared out of the building, leaving Sam and Dean Winchester utterly clueless.

"Should we... go after him?" Sam suggested, staring into the crater.

Dean thought for a moment. Then a moment more.

Then, he licked his lips.

"No. No, let's... just never talk about this one again."

It was Sam's turn to think.

"Yeah... Tell Christelle we've already exorcised it?"

"Yeah. Then beer."

So they left.

And, from their pocket of reality, on another metaphysical plane, Gabriel and Hel watched over the proceedings. And shared candy apples. And they saw that it was good.


End file.
